


already gone

by two_is_better_than_one



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Second Person, Spoilers, post-how to save a life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:18:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_is_better_than_one/pseuds/two_is_better_than_one
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In med school, they don’t teach you how to die. </p><p>Spoilers for 11x21 - How to Save a Life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	already gone

In med school, they don’t teach you how to die. They teach you how to keep other people from dying, and even how to let other people die comfortably. But they never teach you how to die.

They never teach you how to scream when your lungs refuse to breathe, how to apologize when your lips won’t move. They never teach you that, even when brain dead, there’s a tiny piece of you that is still there, clinging helplessly to life, to living, to everything you ever loved. They never teach you how to say goodbye when your family believes you’re already gone. They never tell you that your heart is slowly ripped in two when your wife is begging you to say something, anything, and you can hear her, but you can’t help her. You can’t help her because you’re dead.

They never teach you that death doesn’t hurt as much as you’d expect. Dying hurts, but not the death itself. That’s why it’s so easy to die – you just run away from the pain, into warm darkness. There’s no light, because in a way, you don’t want there to be. You don’t want to go to a heaven where she doesn’t exist, you don’t want to be constantly surrounded by people who remind you that you are separate from her. They don’t teach you that the only reason death hurts at all is because you have emotions, anger and fear and sadness splitting your chest open. Perhaps you could be happy, if you let yourself be, but not right now. The dead need to grieve just as much as those they left behind.

She told you to let go. To be at peace. You could do it – you could go and see your father again. You could see your best friend. You could see her sister. You could see her friend – the one who did something stupidly brave and got himself killed. Like you did. You wonder if it would help at all, or if his halved heart would keen even louder surrounded by memories of her. All you wanted was more time. One more kiss, one more proclamation of love, one more time to say that you were coming back, and have it be true. You want one more bedtime story and one more dirty diaper and one more frustrated argument because someone forgot to put away the dishes. You want one more glass of orange juice spilled onto the floor because your daughter laughs with her arms as much as she does with her mouth. You want your son to know what it’s like to grow up with a father, like you never got to grow up.

You wonder who’s going to take care of them. Everyone is going to be too busy grieving for themselves to realize that, for her, it is not a superficial wound. You can hear her soul shattering when she says goodbye, you can smell the salty tang of the tears running down her face. She wasted all that time loving you, when she could’ve found someone else, someone better, someone who wouldn’t die because of an unhappy accident. She could have married the damn vet.

They never teach you that you forget that you can’t breathe when you’re dead. You forget your heart doesn’t beat. You can’t feel your pulse – that is why you are dead. You wonder if the kid you saved is going to go somewhere with his life, or if he will join you in the land of nonliving because he does something stupid like drives drunk. You wonder who will be next. A patient you could’ve saved, but no one else could because they were not brave enough to try? A friend, who was so lonely, and needed only one small push to fall over the edge? A stranger, who, like him, died by chance? His thoughts were churning faster than he could register them, now that they no longer had to go through tangled paths of neurons to reach his disembodied consciousness.

You feel something tugging at your fingers. You don’t have fingers, so it’s a rather peculiar sensation. You wonder if the mysterious force is dragging you back to where you need to be, or to the life beyond. You don’t know whether or not to resist. If you let them pull you away from the littlest bits of her that you have left, the sensations that still ghost over your not-there body, you will never forgive yourself. But if you fight against them and they are trying to reunite you with the world you belong to, you will never forgive yourself either. You will never know until you try.

You succumb to the pull.

Your vision is suddenly painted in shades of dark, dark blue. Starbursts of gold spring themselves upon you, almost as if you had rubbed your eyes too hard. Slowly the colors begin to recede, new ones taking their places. Ghostly white and sickly blue. Their edges blur slightly, and then clear again. You feel heavier and lighter at the same time, and you hurt, oh how you hurt. For a moment, the thought strengthens you – there is no hurt with no body. You have a body again, don’t you? You try to wiggle your toes, and then feel them move. Joy bursts through you, clean and bright and clear. You are alive!

The door to a room you didn’t realize you were in opens with a soft squeak, and a woman you don’t recognize slips in, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Doctor Shepherd. You’re awake.” You nod numbly. You thought – you thought you were dead. You can’t seem to get the words to feel right in your mouth, and you’d probably sound insane if you said them anyways, so you just keep nodding. The woman, she has red hair. She looks like someone you remember, someone you used to know. In fact, she looks a lot like the doctor that tried so hard to save you. Perhaps she is.

“There’s someone here to see you.” She says warmly, and you just keep nodding, still unable to get your mouth to form words the way it should. The redhead leaves, opening the door wider as she does so. A figure in the hallway stands, unhunching her shoulders. You manage to move your mouth enough to smile, and finally, finally, you find the will to speak.

“Mer –” Her name dies on your lips. It’s not Meredith.

It’s Lexie.

You are dead.

In med school, they don’t teach you how to die. Even if they had, you’re not sure whether or not you’d believe them. Everything changed in one fateful moment. 

Lexie’s hand is warm and soft, and so similar to her sister’s that you want to cry. Or die again. Anything that would take away the pain.

You rescind your previous comment – dying is not the part that hurts. The real pain begins when you’re already gone.


End file.
